


while we're on the topic of temples

by auxanges, thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Come Inflation, Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Double Penetration, Egg Laying, Eggpreg (mentioned), Eggs, Eldritch, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Horrorterrors - Freeform, Lovecraftian Sex Comedy, M/M, Mating Rituals, Multi, Oral Sex, Oviposition, Rough Sex, Tentabulges, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-14 00:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auxanges/pseuds/auxanges, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: TT: Roxy.TT: Regarding that matter we spoke on the other day.TT: Did Sollux Captor inform you that he was actually dating two of the emissaries?TG: HES WHAT





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Shame_Basement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Shame_Basement/gifts).



> "hoo man okay. So I would love some fucky eldritch/alien xeno shit for this one– maybe Rose summons two otherworldly beings to do her bidding, maybe she stumbles across two breathtakingly attractive sea monsters living in a cave on the beach, maybe she's abducted straight out of her home by aliens. Maybe Rose winds up in control, or maybe she finds herself in a bit over her head!"
> 
>  
> 
> so I saw your prompt and had a thought. then I went and hit up the don of lovecraftian sex comedies, and got permission, so thanks to manicpeixesdreamgirl and also the HSWC Team that brought us this utter fucking delight: http://manicpeixesdreamgirl.tumblr.com/post/57368948991/theres-something-about-tentacles
> 
>  
> 
> I didn't mean for this to turn into one giant drag on sollux captor but that's just the way it be sometimes

You were friends with Sollux Captor in a rather roundabout sort of way—your cousin Roxy was on  _excellent_  terms with him, and it was from her that you generally heard of his antics and...escapades. You had to admit, though. This was a big one. Even for him.

 

That temple dedicated to the old gods just outside campus was usually fairly low on the "must see" list of Lovecraft University. Most people preferred not to head out in that direction, for fear of what they might find, and really, it wasn't such an unfounded fear, all things considered. Your university was known for its strange going-ons, unusual happenstances, and mysterious circumstances. It was one of the reasons you'd chosen it.

You were beginning to wonder if, perhaps, that hadn't been the reason Sollux had chosen it as well.

 

Roxy recounted the story to you, with a viciously delighted glint in her eyes: you knew a challenge when the gauntlet was throw down in front of you. "Spoke the broodfester tongues and spilled his blood, you said?"

She grins, and you make a careful little annotation on your study guide, as if it's the only thing in the world that actually concerns you. "Yep!"

"Interesting."

 

The rest of your conversation passes, quite normally. You even start to wonder if she's forgotten about her little taunt entirely, if this is going to be something you do  _without_  the gossip of an entire college community.

Then she waves herself off with an excuse about a Mathletes party, and a whispered "Tell me how it goes!" that leaves you wondering if  _maybe_  you should reconsidering trying something that  _Sollux Captor_ , of all people, decided was a good idea.

 

* * *

 

You, of course, do not.

 

You go down there at midnight one night, and are infinitely more sensible about the trip than Sollux was. You pack a basket of snacks and potential offerings. You consider, and abandon, a pack of condoms. You bring blankets, towels, baby wipes, several changes of clothes and underwear, and some knitted presents, for whatever you summon, as well.

Presumably, it gets cold down there. Even for the emissaries of the horroterrors.

 

You also remember to bring a kerosene lamp. Instead of using your phone. Like a moron.

 

Spill your blood. Speak the broodfester tongues to summon the emissaries of the old gods.

Try not to tremble in anything like lust while they rise from the deeps.

 

While arguing, apparently.

 

* * *

 

"Don't make me regret bringin' you along on this round," grumbles one of them, as they rise up to the surface. You frown, slightly—this doesn't seem to match with Roxy's recounting of Sollux's "adventure". One pink, one violet, one female, one male—instead, it seems like you've gotten two violets, both male, and neither of which seem to be getting along.

The taller one grins, ruffling the grumpy one's hair. "Relax, chief. You and the princess had such  _interesting_  stories, I wanted to see what mortals were like these days. Oh, she's cute."

That snaps the other one's attention to you, and you give him a mocking little wave. He  _sighs_ , as if feeling very put upon, and the tentacles curl above them in what seems like an attempt to be menacing.

It's actually pretty hot.

"Who dares disturb the emissaries a the old gods, mortal human why do you summon us, we shall feast upon your tender flesh—"

"If you're into that."

"CRO."

You look up, partway through unbuttoning your blouse, and tilt your head to the side. "I suppose I could be. It would depend on who is doing the feasting, and what variety of feasting it was, though."

"See?" He gestures at you, and glares up at "Cro". "There you go. One mortal, lookin' for a fuckin' tentacle threesome. Are you happy now?"

"Fuckin' ecstatic," Cro replies, and smirks at you. "Why don't you come on in and join us? The water's real nice."

"I wouldn't want to ruin my outfit," you reply, and reach behind you for the clasp of your bra. It falls into your hands instead, as a tentacle flicks it open. One eyebrow goes up, a motion you'd practiced in your mirror for several days, after Kanaya had lent you a few of her Discworld novels. "Impressive reach."

Grumpy huffs. "You're goin' to feed his ego, an' then he'll be even more insufferable."

"Aw c'mon Danny. Let loose and have a little fun for once in your existence."

You hadn't realized that the emissaries could be quite so expressive, or ridiculous. Danny growls. "If it'll make you shut up, then  _fine."_

Another tentacle curls around your waist, while several more make quick work of your skirt and shoes. Judging by the way Cro's eyebrows go winging up into his hair, you're pretty sure this is Danny's work, and pretty sure that he's showing off more talent than his buddy was aware he had.

 

When he hauls you over the water, into the center of the pool, you're very grateful you picked underwear that you wouldn't mind sacrificing to the deeps.

"Happy now?" He's glaring at Cro, and you reach up to cup his cheek, getting a startled flutter out of his fins and drawing all of his attention down to you.

"Fucking ecstatic, actually," you say, and he huffs again, indignant once more.

"Look what you did," Danny says, his tone accusing. "You ruined a perfectly good human, Cronus. It's fuckin' quotin' you."

You can't help but burst into laughter at that one, and you see the  _tiniest_  edge of a smile on Danny's face. "I didn't realize memes had arrived in the edges of the Outer Rings."

He shrugs, and the tentacle shrugs with him, lifting you up to eye level. From here, you can see that they've got a matched set of horns. Hm. Interesting. "Yeah, well, ever since we indulged that Captor kid's dumbass idea, he comes down here every so often an' tosses shit into the pool until Fef surfaces."

Cronus snorts. "Sure, Dan, say that like you ain't the one comin' up to chuck it back at him half the time."

"Shut  _up_ ," Danny hisses back at him, and the tentacle around you tightens up a little bit more.

Politely, you wave a hand between them, and snap their attention back to you once more. "I'd very much appreciate it if we could save the arguments until the tentacles are in me, not around me, thank you."

Danny flushes a pretty violet, and Cronus laughs, scooping you up and out of the loosening one around you. The water comes up to about your thighs, when he sets you down, a fact you find both surprising and comforting. "Fair enough, doll. Be a shame to let you leave without givin' you what you came here for, after all."

"You're a fuckin' menace to society," Danny mutters, and another tentacle curls up your leg.

"You're a matching set. Is Feferi—Fef—the pink one with curved horns and long, wavy hair, then?" They both blink at you, like they're surprised you know anything else about them. "Sollux," you say, by way of explanation, and Danny nods as if everything suddenly makes sense. You're pretty sure it does, knowing him.

"Uh, yeah—she would've come, but we figured it was a new human, judgin' by the fact that you tried summonin' us the old way, yeah? An' Cro here—you can call him Cronus, I'm Eridan, Sol's probably said as much—wanted to see what humans were like these days."

"A pleasure," Cronus says, nodding to you, and offering a hand.

You take it, and give him a delicate, ladylike shake. "Charmed."

Eridan offers his next—instead of shaking it, you tug him down closer and kiss his cheek, much to his surprise and your and Cronus' delight. "I—uh—"

"Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

 

The two of them oblige you most willingly. Eridan's fins kick up a flutter once more, and when you reach up to cup them, he tips his head back and keens, a noise that sets something in your bones to shivering. Before you can dig too deeply into that, Cronus is pressed up against your back, hands sliding up from your hips to your chest, cupping your breasts and thumbing at the sensitive tips. It's your turn to moan, and Eridan immediately takes advantage, surging forward to kiss you, his fangs—actual fangs, dear goodness—scraping over your lower lip.

"Oh, Feferi'd like you," Cronus murmurs in your ear, as Eridan hitches your hips up. You feel much more supported than you'd expected, he's incredibly strong and the tentacles curling around your thighs and waist don't seem to hurt either. "Whatcha think, Dan?"

"Definitely," Eridan murmurs against your mouth, going in for another kiss. You're wondering if being a matched set gives them a similar approach. "Could introduce you sometime, if you'd like."

You're gasping, when he finally lets you breathe. Those gill slits are lovely on him, sure, but you're thinking he's got something of an unfair advantage, along with a distinct lack of knowledge about how much humans can handle. "I'd love to, meet her," you manage, and his smug look at your current state informs you that the former is true, though the latter is not: that shit did it on purpose.

"Good," he says, and pulls your thighs wider apart. A startled little yelp escapes you, and Cronus chuckles, tipping your head back to take a turn at kissing you.

"Perhaps we ought to take her back for a little while. See what everyone else thinks, yeah?"

You would focus on this change of topic a little better if there wasn't currently a tentacle coiling between your thighs. To your infinite surprise, it appears to be attached to Eridan. "Um."

"Don't be a fuckin' idiot, Cro. A human wouldn't survive the trip." Said tentacle twists against you, the odd texture of it—semi-rigid ridges and bumps, set in patterns that make you think of the waves of the sea—rubs against your clit in the  _nicest_  of ways.

Instead of managing your question—question _s_ —you cry out again, gripping at the tentacles that have wrapped around your arms.

This is definitely something out of one of those hentais. You are  _never_  going to live this down.

 

You are starting to wonder if you actually care.


	2. Chapter 2

The tentacles are about as friendly as the two emissaries themselves, twining around you in ways better suited to fantasies you'd prefer no one knew about. Eridan's own one is settled betwixt your thighs in a way that you might usually find incredibly fascinating, if it weren't for the fact that you need it in you, now, literally.

Apparently, though, even amongst the horrorterrors, common courtesies must be observed.

"Are you sure you want this, Rose Lalonde?" You swallow hard, staring up at Eridan. As far as you can tell, Cronus is the elder one (elder elder god, you're so funny), but Eridan seems to be in control—of this situation, of the temple, of your body, wait, no, don't go there—and he's the one doing the asking. Wait. Wait.

"How—how do you know my name?" There are more pressing concerns. Like the bumps currently teasing at your clit, and parting your folds, and  _enticing_  you. If you could shut your brain off, you would. You are, in fact,  _trying to_ , with  _incredibly_  hot tentacle sex. Really, at this rate, you're going to have to resort to some drastic measures.

He seems more amused than anything, though, thank—well—them. "You gifted it to us when you summoned us. Mortals never really read the fine print."

"Oh. Good. Great. Did I also sell my soul, by any chance?"

"Nah," Cronus says, nuzzling at your shoulder. They're very affectionate. You wish you could be noticing this  _after_  things got going. "Just your name. That ain't to say we couldn't do shit with it, but we're not  _goin'_  to, we're not that kind a jackass."

"You're several other sorts, though," Eridan mutters, and his...tentabulge? You're still not sure—lashes against  you in a way that makes you cry out. "Need an answer here."

This time, it sounds like he's gritting your teeth. How fascinating. Is he actually fighting to restrain himself here? "Yes," you breathe, turned on beyond all belief.

He shoves inside you, and you  _scream_.

Something else takes the chance to slip into your mouth, and your cries become whimpers around the tentacle down your throat, as your body adjusts from  _sudden-startled_  to  _this doesn't actually hurt_. Whatever his dick—"tentabulge" pops into your head—is made out of, it's surprisingly gentle inside of you, stretching you out to the limits of what you can take and not much further.

 

Yet.

 

Eridan's panting, head bowed over you, and Cronus is nuzzling at your shoulders still. His hands find their way to your clit, as Eridan adjusts, slowly, and his attention to your breasts is swiftly replaced by another set of tentacles eager to fill the absence.

When you glance down, to reaffirm what your body is informing you of, you realize that Eridan isn't so much  _adjusting_  as he's forcing himself to wait. He's only half of the way inside you, two-thirds at  _best_ , and from what you can see, that bulge only gets bigger the further down you go. You moan, around the tentacle in your mouth, and he hooks to fingers under it to pull it gently out.

"That won't fit," you inform him, feeling rather idiotic as you state the...well, obvious. Cronus's bulge chooses that moment to curl against your spread thighs. It's even bigger. "Neither will that."

"Can and will, if you want it to," says Eridan, and his thumb brushes a smear of violet off your jaw. "A'course, that's another thing we'd want permission for."

From behind you, Cronus heaves a sigh. "Yeah, yeah." You're getting the feeling that Eridan's the lawful good party in this relationship.

"Can it, Cro."

"...if I agree."

It's rather sweet, how quick Eridan is to reassure you. "No intensely lingerin' aftereffects, unless you want 'em, an' it won't do any weird shit to your body physically."

"And if I agree—"

"You'd be able to take both of us," Cronus interrupts, before dragging his fangs along your shoulder. You shudder, tightening up around Eridan, and he groans as his own grip on your hips tightens in turn. "Or take as many a these as you'd like to, before an' after."

"I'll stick to you two for now, thanks much. We can try everything else out another time."

Judging by the way Eridan perks up, he's looking forward to your implied return visit. Judging by the rather feral-seeming grin against the skin of your neck, Cronus is looking forward to having a little more free rein.

"Open your mouth," Cronus orders, and you twist—ignoring, what that does to you, and the tentacle  _inside you_.

"I have yet to agree," you tell him, and he raises his hands, his seemingly apologetic look rather ruined by his grin.

"Sorry, sorry. C'mon, doll."

"He's rather bad at this, isn't he?"

"What, the sex or the sweet talkin'? Because he's decent at the first once he learns to shut up instead a tryin' to do the latter."

_"Hey."_

You look Cronus over as you would a suspect Yelp review. "I meant both, but that's good to know."

"Aw, c'mon, Dan—"

"I'm not lyin' for you," Eridan informs him, and pushes a little further into you. It's enough to make your body jerk, against his, against Cro's, against the restraints all around you. Eridan kicks up a purr, and you whimper again. "You're doin' so good. Spread your thighs a little more, you can take it."

You can't. There's no way you could. You're full, completely so, and if he tries to shove any more of that into you, let alone any of  _Cronus_ , you're going to break. "I agree," you mumble. You  _really_  want to break.

Eridan's expression turns a little more feral, and when he orders you to open your mouth, you listen.

 

"Don't pout, Cro, you asked wrong," he murmurs, as the tentacle pushes down your throat. "Good girl, there we go. Take all a it, come on."

"Since when did you get to be all patience and sweetness?"

"She's a sight less annoyin' to deal with than Captor an' you alike, a'course I haven't run out a patience yet." Inside you, his bulge curls in a way that makes you wonder if he perhaps isn't coming to the end of said patience. You would have happily tried to raise that theory, if it weren't for the fact that the tentacle down your throat takes advantage of every movement you make, and—

Something is slowly coating it, spilling out of it, in a way that makes heat pool inside you. It's like being caught on the edge of a climax, not  _quite_  there, waiting for that final push.

Behind you, before you, Eridan and Cronus are moving you gently. The tentacles help, and before you can raise a protest, they're lifting you almost all the way off of Eridan and turning you around, to face Cronus. This time, Eridan catches at your hips from behind and pulls you down, all the way down. You hit up against his thighs with a sharp cry, squeezing down around him as his bulge thrashes inside of you.

If they'd let you touch them, you'd probably raise scratches and welts. The tentacle restraints are beginning to make a lot more sense now.

 

Cronus is on you at once, before you even settle down from the shift, and your logical, orderly trains of thought all break down, as he strokes over the bulge in your throat, the stretch of your stomach. Is he purring? It's hard to tell, when the next feeling is a sharp jerk up of your thighs, leaving you helpless and hanging in the air between them, more so than you were, your dripping entrance split open around a thick, violet,  _thing_. 

There's another one curling up beside it, and you shake your head. Cronus laughs, and the tentacles lift you off Eridan just a little bit more, in a way that makes you whine at the loss. His bulge twists around Eridan's, just barely pushing into you as well, and you feel them twitch inside of you, a full-body shudder concentrated to one spectacular point.

It finishes you, and you're grateful,  _very_  grateful, for the blissful descent of blinding white.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what gamers there's a new sheriff in town  
> starting from chapter 3 this is Officially a collab fic

When you come to, there are two bulges fully seated inside of you, a tentacle down your throat, and several others exploring the whole length of your body. You whimper, and all attention in the room immediately snaps back to you.

"You owe me, Dan," Cronus says, grinning. "She's up already."

"Aye? Then you owe me, for not believin' she was made a sterner stuff than you thought."

You've got a feeling that this bickering thing is fairly common, but right now, you're not quite in the mood. Instead, you tighten up around them, as much as you can, and you're rewarded with a twin pair of choke noises. Fuck. Even their sex noises harmonize all pretty.

Eridan growls low, behind you, and the tentacles holding up your hands jerk upwards, removing your last illusion of freedom.

Hm. Maybe you should've let them bicker.

Cronus speaks first this time, his voice a whitecap of want. “She’s a feisty one. Are all your gifts like this?” 

Another tentacle slithers along the hollow of your clavicle, caressing the swell of the one down your throat before settling like a collar around your neck. It sends a shudder running down your spine, and Eridan's claws chase after it, dragging slowly over your skin.

"They're not  _gifts_ , Cro, they're more along the line a...supplicants, I'd say." Eridan's tone is more speculative than angry, and it would be a relief if it weren't for the latest addition to your tentacle trappings. 

Cronus watches you, the orchid glow of his eyes like the lover of your kerosene lamp. “That so? I mean, she does seem to have a cause in mind.”

You can practically feel Eridan's eyes narrow on Cronus, by dint of the burning feeling all up and down your back. It's theory you'd be willing to test, if you could actually  _move_ —if, Eridan's bulge hadn't just, lashed inside of you, making you wail as best as you can around that tentacle down your throat.

"Don't you dare, Cro. We don't do that anymore, remember?"

“You used to be more fun. Look at her, Danny, she’s  _perfect_. She sought us out, she  _already said yes_ —”

Whatever they're arguing about now, you're not sure you want to know. Escape, unfortunately, is not an option either, and you turn wide eyes on Cronus, pleading silently for an explanation he does not seem likely to give.

"I'm not goin' against Fef just so you can have a little fun with a mortal!"

“Fef don’t need to know, chief.” The tentacle around your neck traces your jaw idly, as if in agreement. “Nothin' severe, you have my word.”

"If you think I wouldn't tell her, you're the idiot here." The one down your throat pulls out of you slowly, and you barely resist the urge to whimper at its loss. "Non-viables only. An' you'll get the girl's permission first, hear me?"

"What—" Your voice is hoarse, rougher than gargled sand, and you swallow, try again. "What do you mean by non-viable?"

Cronus smiles at you, needle-sharp. “Rose Lalonde,” he croons, the tentacles turning you slowly to look at him better. “We got so much more to offer you, if you’ll let us.”

"I might have to consult my attorney," you reply, keeping your voice dry as possible to counter the way you tighten up around them again. Judging purely by expressions, it doesn't work. "What exactly is on offer?"

"Oh no you don't, Cro. This is  _you_ , I'm not takin' part in it."

Cronus snaps lazily at Eridan, before turning to you again. “Eridan’s too prissy to tell you what a full matin' rite involves for us.” The flat of his palm, cool and smooth, traces idly over the swell of your stomach. You would insist that your stomach does  _not_  jump under that attention, but even your skills at self-deception aren't that good.

"...I summoned you for, as some might describe it, 'a horizontal tentacle three person tango'. Now you're telling me this is some sort of mating rite." It's becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the many, many (intriguing, exhilarating, fascinating) connotations of the term.

Eridan sighs. "Theoretically summonin' us would  _invoke_  the matin' rite, but we don't usually impose that shit on humans. Unless. They. Ask."

“I’m askin'  _now_ , get the stick out your arse.” Cronus does not blink. “What say you, then? It ain’t binding or nothin', just—a little more intense.”

"I don't know," you reply, doing your level best not to blink either, "considering that I still have no idea what you're offering me, or what it entails."

He hums, thinking: it’s a deep, echoing noise that rattles every part of you not held down. “You’d be a vessel. Temporarily. Symbolism, really, seein' as I ain’t actually interested in implantin' you with anythin' that could result in Danny taking it out my hide later.”

"Yes." The word falls out of your mouth before you even think it completely through, and inside you, a bulge—Eridan's, you're guessing—spasms, as if it's as startled as you are to hear yourself speak.

"Deeps save me," Eridan mutters, and he leans around you a little, his cold chest pressed flush against your back. "Not while I'm still in her. We fill her with slurry first, make the way a little easier, an'  _then_  you have your fun. Deal?"

Cronus is grinning. “Deal,” he echoes, and then he’s licking at your mouth, the stains the tentacle trailed in its wake a heady violet against your pale skin. You're dizzy nearly the moment he kisses you, opening up to him easily.

 

Inside you, bulges coil and thrash, and you can feel them spill trickles of...something. If horrorterrors, emissaries, whatever they are, have some kind of pre-spill in a volume like this, you shudder to think—quite literally, in fact—how heavily they finish.

Cronus chirrs against your mouth, a series of clicks and buzzes somewhere between the gears of an old watch and a deep-sea call-and-response. When he pulls away, it’s to kiss Eridan, a tentacle rising again to press at your lips.

Eridan responds with the oceanic equivalent of an alto trill, and tangles a hand into Cronus' hair to kiss him better. You couldn't look away if you wanted to, and right now, you really don't. Teeth flash, and rich, violet blood spills, as your lips part without thinking.

The tentacle eases down your throat like it’s always been meant to, stretching at its walls and grazing the flat of your tongue with more of that saccharine-salty liquid. Cronus makes a noise like a dying creature, and you feel another splash of that  _something_  leak between your legs.

There's an echo back behind you, and the spill— _slurry_ , pops into your head, much the way "tentabulges" did earlier—thickens inside of you. Around the tentacle currently ravaging your open mouth, you whine desperately, aching for more attention.

"Get her—" An incomprehensible word, in an incomprehensible language. "That thing. Get it."

“Mmm.” Cronus palms your stomach again, rubbing his hands up your sides like he’s marvelling at your lack of gills, and a thinner tentacle roams further down, cold and rigid to rub at your clit. For all the hold they have on you, your hips  _jerk_  and you cry out, at the unintentional sensory play, at the direct stimulation, at all of the  _attention_  on you. 

Eridan's hands replace the tentacles on your breasts, teasing at them in ways that mimic the tentacle on your clit. Hazily, you wonder if they're not all working off of some kind of psychic link. It would explain a lot of things, but explanations are set aside as the tentabulges in you swell once more, the slurry held in as it congeals. Cronus is definitely purring, now, the tentacle in your mouth rolling lazily.

"Like a plucked string," Eridan murmurs, his mouth moving over your shoulder. When his teeth sink into your skin, you spasm around them, mind-breakingly close to finishing. You's so fucking  _full_ , and helpless, and you need to finish  _now_. You're not the only one—Cronus sucks at your neck, his patience snapping along with his hips, the tentacle in you, in your throat, bending to his will.

 

It finishes you, and you writhe between them, the chill of the water and their bodies nothing against the heat coiling,  _burning_ , inside of you. Everything fizzes at the edges, and you gasp for air uselessly, nails clawing at nothing at all. Behind you, inside you, Eridan chokes on another unearthly noise and  _spills,_ and his counterpart follows, high and heavy sounds filling the walls and every piece of you they haven’t. The arc of your stomach swells again, twin releases of hot eldritch climax in you with nowhere to go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun facts neither of us have ever written ovipos here goes

Eridan pulls out of you slow, a tentacle almost immediately slipping up inside you to take his place. You've got a feeling—a blurry, drifty, hazy feeling—that they don't want anything spilling out of you just yet.

“She’s good, ain’t she?” Cronus’ voice is still so, so low, a little warbled where you can’t make out the language. “You’re so good, Rose.” He hauls you in closer, bracing you with hands and besides, and the tentacles binding your wrists go slack. Your arms drop easily onto his shoulders, as the ones at your thighs wrap your legs around him. You nuzzle at his neck, completely wrecked.

"Go easy, fuck's sake," Eridan groans, and a cold hand runs up your back in a way that makes you shiver.

“Yeah, yeah.” Cronus reaches up to wind his fingers in your hair. He smells like the sea and something else, intoxicating. “Fuck, gorgeous creature.” 

The tentabulge in you curls again, flexing and twitching in a way that has his vowels breaking, and you mumble something nearly as incomprehensible as their language, as Eridan laughs. "Pity she doesn't have the right set a pipes."

His hands stroke over the ruin they've made of your throat, and you tip back against him, head on his shoulder, lips brushing his gills. A shudder runs through him, and you have barely enough time to be pleased, when—"I want a go at her mouth. See how well she handles straight slurry."

 

Cronus makes a series of clicks you take to be approval, and he shifts you a little, joined at the hips where he’s buried deep in you, a motion that makes you tighten up,  _again._  Evidently, Eridan's replacement decides that this means his slurry isn't going anywhere any time soon. You try not to whine at the loss, and fail completely to stifle that noise when the one down your throat slips out as well.

"Do we want her right side up, or no?"

That pensive hum again. “Tip her. Easier for me to take, that way.”

"While she's on you? Alright."

"Wait—"

 

They do not, in fact, wait. The tentacles bind your legs up to your chest again, and before you can adjust to the new angle this creates, they're turning you to face Eridan once more, Cronus pressed up against your back and buried deep inside you still.

"Much better." Cronus runs his tongue along the curve of your spine. "Go on, Danny, give her a go."

Some of the curious tentacles wrap around your arms again, pinning them behind your back, and Eridan tangles a hand into your hair and tugs you downwards. His bulge curls up against your mouth, brilliantly violet and slick with his fluid and yours. You look up at him, and he carefully pushes two fingers into your mouth, spreading it open enough to let his bulge slip in.

Cronus trills in approval, hands roaming over your ribs. His bulge swells again, spreading you open more than you thought possible.

You shudder, and Eridan takes the opportunity to push further forward into your throat. The tentacle looped around your neck teases at the new bulge, and Eridan's hands come up to stroke the shells of your ears in a way that makes you wonder how sensitive those fins are.

You're parted again, another tentacle pushing into you and winding around Cronus' bulge. He makes another one of those heady sounds that dizzies you, and rolls his hips once.

More tentacles twine around you. That thin tentacle teases at your clit again, until you're squirming between them, and Eridan keeps a steady grip on your head as he settles against you, sheath deep. Something in the air seems different, almost, something different about that tentacle inside you—what had he said? A vessel?

Cronus click-clicks against your skin, a low ripsaw of sound: you feel impossibly stretched, warmer than what you expected these—these gods to run. You feel it, heavy and tangible, between your thighs, before settling into you, almost as if swallowed up by the slurry you're keeping in.

Eridan reaches out to tug Cronus up for another kiss, the two of them buried inside you. That same warmth spreads your legs a little wider, and the tentacles take advantage, locking you into position for him, holding you still and steady. Above you, Eridan chuckles. "Brace yourself," he says.

 

Before you have the chance to tongue at Eridan’s bulge in question, Cronus lets out a very different kind of noise against his mouth, and you feel a sunburst of heat against you— _leave him into you_ —to join your full belly. 

And another.

And another.

 

You twist, desperate, at this tight new stretch, but they've planned for that: more tentacles loop around you to hold you steady, and the heat inside you builds, with each...each...oh, god. They're eggs. You can feel them, all the heat of them, traveling that spiraling pathway wrapped tight enough around Cronus' bulge to press each one against each of your walls, before they're deposited into the cold pool of slurry buried inside you.

"Damn, Cro. Almost forgot how needy this makes you."

“Get bent,” Cronus groans, his bulge twitching at each minute movement of your body, every release of another egg deep into you. The warmth spreads to your limbs, not unlike the tingling liquid on your tongue, like you’re having your sobriety slowly fucked out of you.

Eridan's hips jerk forwards, and more of that same liquid spills down your throat. You're starting to see, through the growing haze, what he meant by "straight slurry"—whatever this is, it's stronger than the stuff the tentacle gave you by far, and you can't help but press forward to take more, every time another egg drops into you. The ache of eggs stretching you out is all but gone, and Cronus’ words veer incomprehensible, a singsong of otherworldly praise as you take everything he has to offer, as if he’s the one in worship here.

It runs down to your bones and builds your pleasure as Eridan answers in kind, coaxing more noises out of him with attention you can't see, and you swallow hard around him, tighten around Cronus, closer than you'd thought, sooner than you'd thought.

They have endurance; you don't. You can’t say you’re surprised, even with the pleasant haze in your mind and limbs. Cronus pumps one, two more deliciously hot eggs into you, his bulge coiling: you can practically feel its tip caress over them inside you. It's an utterly possessive gesture, as much as the way he'd stroked your sides, caressed your stomach, and you groan around the bulge down your throat. Just  _one_  more, just one more, you're so, so close—

Eridan kicks up a purr, as if he can  _tell_  where your mind is going. "Should we let her?"

“Why not? She’s done a fine fuckin' job.” Cronus tugs your hips flush against his, the water sloshing around his thighs, and you feel another egg burn you up before burying itself deep into the cool pillow of slurry. It sends you over, nearly screaming, and you think, think you're writhing between them.

"Wasn't sure how kind a mood you were in," is all you can make out of Eridan's reply, before he chases after, slamming his bulge back down your throat. It makes the eggs roll inside you again, a wave of heat that builds and builds until it threatens to take your first climax completely. Almost, almost  _almost—_

Cronus laughs at that, and it shakes your bones and lights you like a fucking pyre. You feel the tentacle around his bulge give a squeeze, and you clench down, seizing a victory and relishing in the resulting spill.

 

For a moment, you think Eridan isn't going to follow. Then his hips stutter, and he presses your face down against his sheath, and more of that sweet-salt spills into you, intoxicating, as it chases the last of your sense away. He pulls out slowly, leaving his slurry across your skin, down your throat, in your mouth.

Cronus lowers you further into the water, until your hips are submerged and your shoulders and head are above the surface. It's a disorienting thrill of sensation, along with the rawness of your throat as you swallow everything you can, desperately wanting to fill every part of you they leave empty.

Eridan runs a hand over your hair as he walks around you, and you turn to watch him as most of the tentacles on you settle down a little more. The one around your throat still feels something like a collar, but you couldn't care less, aching as you are to be owned.

 

Even these distractions, though, aren't enough to turn your attention away from tentacles lashing out to grab Cronus, yank him back up against Eridan's chest, his hips still flush to yours. Cronus looks about how you feel, his expression almost one of ecstasy. “Fuck, fuck yes,” he babbles, a lightning-quick burst of sea-tongue, and it’s a little bit of a relief, somewhere in your subconscious—how good it feels for the gods to be had, in addition to have.

"On your hands and knees, then," Eridan murmurs, and you notice then, through the heat all through you, that he looks a little more godly, a lot more implacable. Whatever gentleness he offers to mortals, it seems  _very_  obvious that Cronus isn't going to be getting any. "We can show her what a proper matin' rite is, aye?"

Cronus’ gaze flickers to you, along with his fins. When he pulls free of you for good, you want to sob—he’s left you full, and the very beginnings of an ache settle in your thighs. A tentacle, almost hilariously benevolent, takes his place, and your muscles give to the gentle lapping of the water. You are an audience. 

“You’ve always been good at it, Danny,” he says, softer.

"Compliments aren't goin' to get you out a this." Eridan's voice is as cold as the water, and he follows Cronus down into the water. You can see the barest hint of violet, before it's shoved deep into Cronus, before dark tentacles rise up and restrain him as well. "You don't get to finish until the last egg is out a her. Understood?"

 _Out?_  The tentacle in you curls, sending the eggs twisting and spiraling through the slurry, and you groan. Out isn't happening. You're too fucking  _full_ , out would be a  _miracle_ , but there's a tentacle still in you and everything is too warm, too big, too much—

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon—“ Cronus ruts at the tentacles, straining against them like it’s a game he knows he’s about to lose.

Eridan laughs, and the sound lights you up again. You tighten around the tentacle, around the eggs, around the slurry—and a little bit of the last leaks out of you. "Desperate," he croons, and you can see the dark ripples of a tentacle cutting through the water, as it twists around his bulge and into Cronus. You can remember how it felt; it has you shuddering, desperately, again.

Cronus cries out, the sound watery and full. He grinds down on it, aglow as the tentacles spread his thighs and coax Eridan deeper. You hope that you did not look so ruined; you already know that you did. Eridan claws violet out of his dark skin, and rolls deeper into him—and you can see something start to move. "Think she likes the sight a you with your nook all stretched out?"

He looks at you again; his eyes are thin rings, blown black for want of Eridan. For want of  _you_. His answer is lost to another moan that has the tentacle in you shuddering. The heat—the eggs, buried inside you—presses down, and you find yourself rising slightly, braced on your hands and knees as much as Cronus is. Eridan tilts his head back and gives a call that bodes ill for the both of you—

The tentacles around you tighten up once more and you yelp, as you're lifted up into the air, water dripping off of you. "Much better," he says, light from your long-forgotten lantern glinting off each fang.

 _“Eridan,”_  Cronus gasps, beatification in every syllable. You want to taste it. He swivels his hips slowly, and the swell of the bulge and tentacle inside him move in turn. It’s voyeuristic; it’s incredibly hot.

Eridan's hand tangles into his hair, yanking him upright. He's putting on a show for you and Cronus both, and he seems disinclined to give quarter. The tentacles pin Cronus' arms and spread your thighs at the same time, and you watch, as he's slowly fucked full, heat settling into him. Any remaining smugness you may have imagined on Cronus’ face melts away as he’s lost to the feel of it. You get the impression, distantly, that much like yourself he’s a visitor to this place, come to pay his dues when asked.

"Eyes on her, Cro." Your dues apparently, include being both audience and show as Eridan demands it, and you shiver, as the attention turns back to you. Watery slurry leaks out from you, drips down your skin, and those curls of heat  _press_ , again, at the tentacle still holding them in.

 

"Oh, fuck, Eridan—" Cronus has a stare like a sun, searing you as much as the eggs prodding at your sensitive inner walls and the thrashes of deep power you’ve given yourself to. Eridan's teeth sink into his shoulder, and Cronus keens, higher than you’ve yet heard him, and chokes out nonsense at his counterpart, fins fanned wide on either side of his face.

The tentacle pulls out of you in a rush—slurry follows it, and one of the eggs tries to, getting caught in a way that catches a scream in your throat. "Please— _please—"_

When Eridan pulls back to look at you, his mouth is stained with violet, and he bares his fangs in something approaching a grin. "Breathe, Rose Lalonde. They didn't kill you goin' in, they're not goin' to kill you comin' out."

Cronus, for his part, seems about ready to die. You get the impression it’s for show, but the way his face twists in pleasure as the gentle swell of his stomach shifts every time he takes a breath still has you eager to please. You breathe.

 

The show is not enough, for Eridan, at least—he yanks Cronus' arms behind his back, pinning them there, and takes him deeper, making his back curve to set the whole of him on display. A picture of him pretty enough to send another shudder through you and, and, the egg  _follows_ , as you bear down on it, falling out of you and landing in the water with a soft splash. It sinks into the shallows, a burning violet glow, undiminished, looking as hot as it felt—and you can feel its companions, still inside. You begin to question the veracity of Eridan's statements.

"Come on, Rose," Cronus is babbling, arched hard enough to make his gills flare open in bright gashes on his sides, "come on, come on, come on—"

Eridan beckons, and the tentacles bring you closer, a smooth motion that still sets the eggs inside you rolling, the slurry nearly spilling. This is going to kill you. It's definitely going to kill you. "Maybe you ought to help her get 'em out, if you're so desperate to see 'em drop. Go on, then." You stop, just in front of the pair of them, doing your level best not to look as fuck-drunk as you feel.

Cronus looks hungrily at you, his gaze dropping to your belly and doubling the heat in you. He closes in like a predator, as much as one can be wrapped in sea-parts pumped full of eggs and violet dripping down his thighs.

"I'm not goin' to give your arms back," Eridan murmurs, his lips brushing over Cronus' fins. "Use your mouth an' don't do damage we can't repair, you possessive shit."

 _What sort of damage?_  asks the suicidally idiotic part of you. You'd be more comforted by the fact that you didn't say that out loud if the immediate mental reply hadn't been  _Next time._

He nods, bowing low to drag his fangs over the curve of your breast, down your front in an almost chaste kiss at your stomach before the tentacles lower him obediently into the water. When his lips find you, he purrs, and the full-body spasm that follows pushes another egg to the absolute edge, and you gasp for breath, as you try to help it out, as best as you can. Eridan seems amused, by you, by Cronus, enough so to kick up his own purr.

Cronus tongues at your clit, rubbing his cheek against the divot of your hipbone like you're his fucking salvation. His attention drives you over again, and you're very dimly aware of Eridan's praise—two eggs spill out of you in a rush of climax, a third threatening to follow. You've resorted to begging, but you're not sure how intelligible your words are, as he groans against you, the vibration of his voice setting your legs to trembling: you are grateful for the tentacles holding you to his waiting lips as he traces the contour of the third, glancing up at you through surprisingly thick lashes.

"Go on," Eridan says, urging one, both of you along. You want to wail, as you struggle against your bonds. He's a sadist. A complete and utter sadist. You're mentally reclassifying him as "Lawful Evil".

"I  _can't."_

"Sure you can," Cronus coaxes, mouthing at the skin of your thigh. "You've agreed to all else, haven't you?"

"A, agreement, has no bearing, on ffffuck. Physical, capabilities." You'd applaud your own argument if your hands weren't bound.

Cronus rolls his eyes, an impressive feat for someone with their head between your legs. "Dan, help her out."

"Nah. I'm kinda enjoyin' this, actually." You bare your teeth at him, and he returns the favor. "Unless you want to owe me one, Cro."

"Start me a tab, chief." He grins down best he can against the tentacle holding him down: it slithers out of the way, and the water sloshes around his stomach.

"I'm chargin' interest," Eridan warns, and the tentacles binding Cronus' arms back follow after, even as Eridan's hips snap forward, fucking deeper into Cronus still. He's a sore winner, you're learning. Cronus whimpers, driving his tongue into you deep enough to jostle an egg. You feel something cool trickle down one of your legs.

"Settle, Lalonde. Tensin' up won't help either a you."

You grip at the tentacles around your arms and press down against Cronus' mouth as best as you can. "I'm going to feed you to a giant sea turtle."

"That's jellyfish, an' I'm not exactly  _edible_."

"You both taste fine to me," Cronus mumbles around you, sucking at your entrance and teasing it further open.

"Jackass," Eridan mumbles, but his fins kick up a flutter, and he jerks his head in a way that makes the tentacles shift you into easier reach. The fourth egg spills out, nearly into Cro's mouth.

He doesn't seem to give a shit, that trill of a moan hitching in volume and in pitch. "That's it, fuck—"

"You're useless when you're this needy," Eridan says, leaning down to nuzzle at Cronus' shoulder. "Alright, fine." His fins flick, in some silent signal, and two thinner tentacles curl up, push into you. You want to scream. You want to push them  _out_.

 

Instead, they spread you, and you  _moan_  as the next egg starts to slip out of you.

Cronus laughs, a desperate little rush of air that's cold on your skin, and your entire body shudders against your restraints and follows through the tentacles into him, as another one chases the first, and gravity, the slurry, do most of the work. Three spill out of you in a rush, the fourth taking a little longer as it  _drags_  against your insides, but the next two go quick. Each one sends a thrill of pleasure through you, and you feel that heat start to build again, even as the heat inside of you pours out, splashing down below.

"Oh, god." Cronus is rutting against nothing, now, desperate to follow you wherever this is taking you, this  _release_ , and there's so fucking much  _more_  than you realized.

"How many did you leave in her?" Eridan jerks Cronus back onto his lap, gripping at his hips, expression twisted into a snarl. "Fuck's sake, that's already been eleven. Answer me, afore she breaks."

"Just a couple more, I swear— _fuck_ —"

"I want a  _number_ , Cronus, or you'll be answerin' to Meenah, hear me?"

"Thirteen, okay? Lucky lucky."

"Idiot," Eridan snarls, and you can see his claws sink into Cronus again, thanks to all the light pooling in the shallows. Violet wavers up from the cuts, and you watch as Eridan shudders, like he's trying to push even  _more_  into Cronus' already swollen stomach. Cronus’ mouth hangs open, and his eyes roll, hands straining in the grip of the tentacles. You can see the shifting under his skin; you feel empty by comparison. Watching, though—it sends another lick of pleasure through you.

When Eridan looks up at you, his eyes are alight from within. " _Finish_ ," he says, in a voice that sounds like the open ocean, feels like the crash of a wave. You obey.

 

* * *

 

This time, it takes you longer to resurface: when you do, you're empty, held limp in that same eldritch grasp, as Eridan  _finally_  fucks Cronus over the edge. The sound of his climax rattles off the temple walls like gunfire. The light in your lantern gutters out, and his release coats the pair of you in unearthly violet.

Eridan follows close after, with a roar that chases off the dying echoes, sends the tentacles curling away—you're dropped, gently, half into the water, half onto Cronus' lap, and his arms coil around you loosely, relearning themselves as limbs of skin and bone. “Rose Lalonde,” Cronus repeats, like this whole damn venture was a pilgrimage.

You moan quietly, letting him tuck you up against his chest, as Eridan pulls out of him and shifts around to hold you both. "I'm never invitin' him back," he grumbles, spoiling the moment as he nuzzles at your hair to check on you.

“You gotta. I owe you now.” Cronus nips at his jaw, playing at a strand of your sweat-damp hair.

"I'll collect when we come an' visit you, a'course." Eridan rubs the sting out against Cronus' jaw, and settles against you both with a quiet little sigh. "Rose Lalonde. Not bad, for your first round."

“The first.”

Cronus grins at you, pointed teeth and sharp eyes. Around you, the water cools slowly. “Don’t tell us you’re so eager to quit.”

"I'm bringing a contract, next time," you inform him, reaching up to touch those teeth carefully. "That, or a lawyer. I have access to both."

"I like her," Eridan says, and leans down to give you a better chance at stroking over his hair when you reach for him.

 

You're determined not to say it out loud, but you think you're starting to like them too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:  
> \- cronus and meenah are older than eridan and feferi, and therefore remember more of "the old days" and are also thus more powerful  
> \- EXCEPT they're in eridan and feferi's demesne, which gives erifef a passive boost, making erifef equal to if not stronger than cromeen  
> \- also there are Rules about hospitality  
> \- all this adds up to cronus deferring to eridan in a lot of cases  
> (- let's be real he's also a bottom bitch when he's not being a switch)
> 
>  
> 
> Also we've got a joint blog now so here you go: https://taillisin.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> chapter two en route


End file.
